泡沫之夏
After the desert turns green, harder work begins_我的网站
一 |
At 29, Shi belongs to a new generation of desert-control workers equipped with drones, machines and remote irrigation systems. An earth auger can now do in a day what once required about 200 laborers, while a single phone can control drip irrigation across more than 1,000 mu (about 66.67 hectares) of woodland.
For the older Shi's generation, the challenge was getting trees to survive in moving dunes. For the grandson, it is figuring out how to make those forests healthier and more resilient for decades to come.
Their story captures a broader shift in desert control along the southern edge of the Maowusu Desert in northwest China's Shaanxi Province: turning shifting sand into forest was only the beginning.
In 1986, Shi Guangyin, Shi Jianyang's grandfather, led more than 300 villagers into Langwosha, a sandy area in Dingbian County in Yulin City. He had raised 60,000 yuan (about 17,377 U.S. dollars at the time) by selling his family's 84 sheep and borrowing from relatives and banks to contract 3,500 mu of barren sandy land.
The early setbacks were severe. Strong winds destroyed about 90 percent of the saplings in the first year, and about 80 percent of those planted the following year failed to survive.
After seeking advice from forestry experts, Shi and the villagers laid out checkerboard-shaped barriers on windward slopes to hold the sand in place, then planted trees, shrubs and grasses within them. Sapling survival rates rose to about 80 percent.
Over the next four decades, Shi and those working alongside him treated 250,000 mu of sandy and saline-alkali land, with more than 53 million trees and shrubs taking root.
Greening the Maowusu Desert is part of a much larger national undertaking. It is one of the three major battlefronts of China's Three-North Shelterbelt Forest Program, a decades-long effort to curb desertification across northern China.
China has made desertification control a national ecological priority. Since 2023, the country has stepped up efforts under the program, with greater emphasis on systematic restoration and on consolidating earlier gains.
Decades after the first trees took root, a new challenge emerged. Poplars planted decades ago for their rapid growth began reaching the end of their life cycle, with large numbers of trees dying, while forests dominated by a single species were more vulnerable to pests and disease.
Making a forest was one challenge. Keeping it healthy for another generation is another.
Shi Jianyang grew up watching his grandfather and father work to hold back the sand. His father, Shi Zhanjun, spent years planting trees alongside Shi Guangyin before dying in a road accident in 2008 while transporting saplings.
As a boy, Shi Jianyang sometimes resented the work that had taken his father. He spent summer holidays in makeshift tents in the sandy land, eating meals gritty with sand. During planting season, his father would return home with painful blisters in his mouth.
Yet he eventually chose forestry himself.
After studying forestry technology in university, Shi returned home in 2020 and began working in desert control. His team, initially made up of just seven or eight young locals, later brought in university graduates with expertise in soil science, landscaping and pest control.
The younger generation faced a different question: not simply how to make trees survive, but how to make a forest last.
Shi and his team spent more than 40 days in a 5,000-mu woodland setting up sample plots, measuring rainfall, studying soil microorganisms and tracking tree lodging. They proposed renewing aging forests with better-planned forest structures and expanded the planting of Mongolian pine, a long-lived evergreen species that had been successfully tested locally.
To date, about 50,000 mu of land has been planted with Mongolian pine. As some trees fail to survive and require replacement in subsequent planting seasons, the cumulative area of planting operations has reached about 65,000 mu.
Technology has also changed daily work. Drones patrol forests from the air, mechanized equipment dig planting pits, and irrigation can be managed remotely. Sapling survival rates, which Shi Guangyin's generation had raised to about 80 percent through improved sand-control and planting methods, have climbed further to about 92 percent with greater mechanization and more precise management.
Shi said the changes can be felt on the ground. Strong sandstorms have become rare, winds are weaker inside the forest, and the ground stays moist longer after rain. Summer days beneath the trees also feel cooler, while morning dew appears more often. The changes lead him to rethink desert control.
His approach also reflects a broader effort in China's desert regions to link ecological restoration with local livelihoods, giving communities a stronger economic stake in protecting restored land.
With his grandfather's support, Shi and his team have been looking for ways to make better use of the restored land as ecological conditions improve. They have developed potato seedlings suited to sandy soil, promoted greenhouse farming, and set up a livestock cooperative, while increasingly growing potatoes, watermelons and peppers on land once prone to losing water and nutrients.
Shi has also turned to livestreaming e-commerce to market potatoes and other local farm produce, while developing forest-based health and leisure projects. More than 2,000 local residents have seen their incomes rise steadily as farming, livestock breeding and other businesses have developed.
"We used to fear the sand and keep away from it. Now we understand it and know how to make use of it," Shi Guangyin said. "Today, there are opportunities to make a living everywhere in this sandy land."
Across Yulin, forest coverage has risen from 1.8 percent in 1949 to 34.8 percent, while shifting dunes that once encroached on villages have been brought under control.
For Shi Jianyang, however, the green landscape is not proof that the work is finished. "Planting a tree is not difficult," he said. "The difficult part is looking after it for decades."
The grandfather generation learned how to stop the sand. The young generation is learning how to make what grew there last.
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二 |
Niu Lai, a low-budget original animation with rudimentary character modeling and an unconventional, abstract storyline, hit Chinese theaters on August 5 but earned just 7,169 yuan ($995) during its first nine days. But its cumulative box office had surpassed 2.5 million yuan as of press time.
Niu Lai opened with little of the machinery normally associated with a commercial theatrical release. It had no star-studded cast, major promotional campaign or significant pre-release buzz. Its opening-day box office was just over 3,400 yuan ($474), with fewer than 300 moviegoers watching it during its first nine days, according to Maoyan.
That changed on August 14, when a social media topic about its nine-day box office of just over 7,000 yuan went viral. Rather than praising the film, many users were drawn to its unusually rough production and two-person creative team.
Terms such as “the most basic theatrical film,” “disaster-level” and “worse than AI-generated animation” circulated online, with some netizens saying they could “hardly believe it was a Chinese animated film released in 2026.” Others said they wanted to see it simply to find out “just how bad it could be.” Some even joked that stock market investors were heading to theaters after wishing for a “bull market” to arrive soon.
The online buzz has also sparked a wave of fan-made content, with netizens inserting the film's little bull character into posters for various classic movies. The playful edits have further fueled its visibility on social media, turning Niu Lai into an internet meme and a shared online joke.
The film's viral attention also spawned jokes that Nolan might not have expected Niu Lai to become an unlikely rival to The Odyssey, which opened in China on August 14 amid intense competition for summer moviegoers.
Its rise stands in sharp contrast to the conventional logic of China's increasingly competitive theatrical market, particularly this summer, when a string of high-profile releases, including The Odyssey, Once Upon a Time in the Middle East and Spider-Man: Brand New Day, are competing for audiences.
"Niu Lai has been driven by curiosity and social currency, with audiences essentially paying a premium for the feeling of being part of a trending phenomenon. Curiosity can generate genuine audience interest, but social-media-driven hype is essentially a bubble built on traffic," Zhang Peng, a cultural researcher and associate professor at Nanjing Normal University, told the Global Times.
"When cinemas add screenings for Niu Lai, they may appear to be responding quickly to market demand, but in reality, they are giving in to online buzz rather than making decisions based on the quality of the film itself," Zhang said.
According to Zhang, The Odyssey's strong reception and high theater attendance in China demonstrate that high-quality content, combined with a distinctive and hard-to-replicate theatrical experience, remains at the heart of the cinema business.
"Niu Lai, meanwhile, serves as a warning that speculative filmmaking and curiosity-driven marketing should not be mistaken for a replicable formula, as relying on such tactics offers little positive value for the long-term development of the film industry," he said.
"A fleeting viral frenzy can never replace a solid creative foundation. Content quality remains the enduring value that will sustain the film industry over the long term," Zhang said.
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Published on:08:23:08